Race the Darkness (Fatal Dreams, #1)(66)

“You need to talk to Kent?” He parroted her, couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“Just about my case.” Isleen seemed sincere, so why did he have a suspicion in his heart that everything good in his life was about to get flushed down the shitter? She reached up to his neck and tugged his face down to hers. She kissed him, her lips sweet and cool, and if emotion could pass through the barrier of skin, he swore he felt her complete devotion. But still something didn’t jive.

Or was that all in his head? He had zero relationship experience. All he knew was what little he’d had with Isleen. Was he smothering her? Was this her way of getting a bit of space? There shouldn’t be anything wrong with leaving her to drive Camille home. Not that he wanted to leave Isleen, but it would give him a chance to apologize to Camille. And nothing bad could happen while he was gone. Kent and Hopkins would see to that.

He shrugged into a shirt and nabbed his keys from the dish by the door.

“Don’t you let her out of your sight,” he said to Kent. The guy nodded, and for all the shit between them, Xander trusted him with this. “I’ll be gone thirty minutes. Not one second longer.”

“I’ll be here,” Isleen said.

So why did he feel like he was about to lose her?

*

Camille’s perfectly composed face slipped and fell. She didn’t cry, bawl, or scream, but pain sank into her features. It hurt to watch. Xander didn’t say anything, just opened his truck’s door, waited while she climbed in, and then jogged to the driver’s side.

Isleen stood in the yard, cradling Kent’s mini-mutt to her chest and smiling so sweetly that Xander stopped and couldn’t move. Behind her, the sun had already slipped into the horizon, shooting shades of molten fire across the sky. The image of Isleen and the sky together was epic, the kind of vision that inspired people to write songs of love and beauty and the fear of loss.

He wished he had a camera to capture the grace of the moment. He settled for staring at her while she scratched the dog’s ears, memorizing the way the light made her hair glow golden, her skin luminescent, and her lips deeply rose, begging to be kissed. She looked up, catching him watching her. The smile she gave him carried enough wattage to keep his happy sensors running on full power for the rest of his life. Damn.

She lifted her hand and waved a carefree gesture, then used the dog’s paw to wave at him too. He waved back, but deep in his gut, a worm of warning latched on and began feeding on his happiness, reminding him that good things never happened to him. She could be in danger.

Someone had been in her hospital room and left that cross on her head. A priest had killed Gale. That same someone might be after Isleen. She should be safe here with Kent and Hopkins. Two guards on her. Another guard at the main house and one at the end of the driveway. That was four trained agents watching out for her. But there were no guarantees in life.

Okay, maybe he was being a bit paranoid, not to mention jealous of anyone besides him spending time with her.

She had wanted to talk to Kent. She had wanted Xander to take Camille home. And he wanted to make her happy. He would deny her nothing.

The solution: Be fucking quick about it.

He got in the truck.

“Why did you fuck her? What can she give you that I can’t? Why didn’t you tell me you lived here? I thought you lived at the other house with your family and that was why you never invited me over.” Her quiet questions rushed him like a linebacker. At least she wasn’t trying to rip his face off. “Why? I don’t understand any of this.”

He started the truck, tore a swath through the gravel, and sped down the driveway. Pain slammed into his head. A breathy grunt escaped his lips. The frequency connection opening. Fucking damn. It’d been a while since he’d actually felt that pain. Then again, it’d been awhile since he wasn’t either with Isleen or near her. Another reason that being away from her made no sense. She took away his pain and gave him control over his hyper-hearing.

I feel so stupid. But how could you be with me all that time, and it was only ever about sex? Ten years. Ten years of my life. How could that just be about sex?

“I could ask you the same question.” She jerked from him answering her thoughts. It was too fucking difficult to respond to only the oral shit. “You never made demands, and I never gave explanations.” He worked on keeping his tone soft, because his words were harsh and his head pounded.

He whipped the truck out onto the highway and sped toward town. Headlights from an oncoming vehicle pulsed with the throbbing in his head. He rubbed his temple. Three minutes away from Isleen felt like three years in a torture chamber.

“It was about more than sex to me.” It was an investment.

“But it wasn’t about love. You don’t love me. We were two lonely people craving human contact to ease our isolation. I needed someone who didn’t judge me and accepted me without strings. You gave that freely to me. I appreciate you for that.” He glanced at her. He’d never seen her look so forlorn and lost. “I am sorry your feelings are hurt. I wish I would’ve done things differently so we could’ve avoided this.”

Love? I don’t need love. I can picture us in that house living together.

“You deserve to be happy, to be loved. To be someone’s everything.” And, wow, did he understand that now. “You are a beautiful, passionate woman. There is someone out there for you.” He almost couldn’t believe the words coming out his mouth. When did he turn into a relationship expert?